The procession was rapidly organized. Along the narrow lanes of the
island where the rain coursed in streams, people kept coming in droves.
They were barefoot for the most part, but some were sinking shoes
indifferently into the water. Most of them had tapers or shotguns. The
women did their best to shelter little ones under the skirts they had
gathered about their heads. The musicians, all barefoot, were in regular
uniform--gold braided jackets and plumed hats--looking for all the world
like Malay chiefs who beautify their nakedness with castoff coats and
three-cornered hats the missionaries give them.

In front of the church the lights of the tapers blended into one great
flare. Through the wide doorway the candles on the altars gleamed like a
distant constellation.

The whole neighborhood, almost, had assembled in the square, despite the
increasing rain. Many had come to scoff. What a farce it all would be!
They did well, however, to wait two days! The rain was almost over. It
would probably stop by the time they got the Saint out!

In double file of tapers the procession began to move between two lines
of tightly jammed spectators.

"_Vitol el pare San Bernat!_ Hurrah for father San Bernardo!" a
multitude of hoarse voices cried.

"_Vitol les chermanetes_! Hurrah for his sisters!" others added, to
correct the lack of gallantry displayed by the most enthusiastic of the
idolators in putting ladies last.